


Belated Boytoy

by singleorganicmachine



Category: Death Note
Genre: Bloodplay, Car Sex, Dubious Consent, Gunplay, M/M, Object Insertion, PWP, Restraints, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singleorganicmachine/pseuds/singleorganicmachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before their final mission, Mello offers his first and final selfless gesture: he resolves to switch roles with Matt, relinquishing his control for the first time. What Mello doesn't anticipate is how enthusiastically Matt leaps into his new role.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belated Boytoy

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to say about this one. Pretty much just kink.

//:BELATED+BOYTOY

 

//:I found him right where I thought he’d be, out in the garage with the car. I could hear him working through the cheap sheet-metal of the walls. I reinforced my resolve and pulled the chain by the door, working the simple pulley system that opened it the rest of the way. The rickety door squealed with rust as it lifted open, revealing him hunched over the hood, painting with a spray machine. The motor was terribly loud, drowning out any noise I could have made. He had his goggles down and a fume mask over his mouth and nose. The pungent odor of the strong paint filled the garage, escaping through a couple small vents in the ceiling. It appeared he was detailing the Camaro with black racing stripes, spraying carefully between the plastic he’d taped over the rest of the hood. The back half of the car was already finished, and it looked like he’d touched up the faded paint to bring it back to its originally glorious candy-apple red. He was just finishing up the last section of striping when I closed the garage door shut behind me, shielding my mouth and nose with the back of my hand. I waited impatiently until he noticed me.

He turned off the sprayer and set it aside, then put his hands on his hips to observe his work. He yanked the mask down and lifted his goggles onto his head, bending down to inspect the paint job. He knelt in front of the grill and looked down the hood, I suppose making sure it was even. After that he stood back up and nodded, replacing his goggles. I cleared my throat and his shoulders jumped. He looked over. 

“What’s up, Boss?” he asked, turning back to the car immediately.

“I’ve finished all my preparations,” I said evenly. “I came to check on your progress.”

“I finished all that a while ago,” he said, removing a glove. “Now I’m just making it as sexy as possible.” He peeled back the tape and removed the plastic, revealing the vibrant red underneath.

“Why bother? It’s probably going to end up destroyed anyway.”

“Aw, don’t say that!” He knelt and ran his hand along the red portion of the hood. “Even if it does bite the big one, I want it to look as pimp as possible when it does…”

I sighed. “Whatever.”

“So, what do you think?” he asked, leaning against the driver’s side door with an elbow on the roof, looking quite proud of himself. 

“I think it looks like a car,” I remarked.

He shook his head. “You got no vision, man… I even added a bigger hood scoop and tweaked the engine to kick out a few more horses.”

“How exciting,” I mumbled. 

“Why’d you even come in here if you were just gonna spoil my fun?” He opened the door and reached inside, plucking a pack of cigarettes off the seat. He slid one out and put it in his lips. He lifted a lighter and then stopped, grimacing, and sighed before he threw it back in the front seat. I guess he realized lighting up in an enclosed space full of paint fumes wasn’t a good idea. 

“I came in here for a reason,” I began, walking over to stand in front of him.

“I’m waiting.” I stepped right up to him, so close that we were almost touching chests. Suddenly, I reared back and slapped him hard across the face, knocking his whole upper body to the right. His unlit cigarette flew out of his mouth and landed right in a bucket of filthy water. He grabbed against his cheek and cringed, groaning. “Fuck! What was that for—” I backhanded him on the other cheek, knocking him the other way. “Shit!” After that I snatched his hair in both my fists and jerked him forward, shoving our mouths together hard. I watched his eyes fly open wide behind his tinted lenses. 

When I pulled away he was still gawking at me. “Now get this through your thick, impossible skull,” I hissed. “This is the ONLY time I will EVER do this! You got that?!”

“…Do what?”

"…I'll be YOU." I grabbed his goggles and pulled them roughly off his head, then slid them over mine and freed my longer hair from the strap. My bangs settled around the frames and I adjusted the lenses in place over my eyes. I saw the world the way he did for the first time: tunneled, tinted, half-hidden. His pale, faintly-freckled complexion was now colored orange.

He lifted a red eyebrow. "...What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. I just looked at him through the thick lenses as I got down on my knees, lowering to the concrete floor at his feet. His other eyebrow lifted to join the first. "You serious?"

"Don't I fucking look serious?!" I snapped, and then bit my tongue. I had resolved to do this and not lose my temper. I would endure this, damn it, if only to alleviate these roiling new emotions I so hated inside me—something teetering on the fence between sorrow and guilt, but not close to touching either. I was resigned to the fact that I wasn’t capable of feeling such abstract sentiments. Only rage, and twisted glee, and coldness. 

"Just shut up and let me," I said, doing my best not to make it a demand. I unbuckled his grommet belt and slid it free from the loops of his pants. The button and zipper of his fly came next and then I bunched his jeans down his hips enough to free my path. His boxer shorts were blue with guitars and skulls all over them. I resisted the urge to scowl. 

"Mello...?" His voice was always the same, even now—slightly rusted like old machinery, hardly used and never lively.

I ignored him and slipped my hand into the cotton fabric, sifting through soft ginger hair more orange than his tuscan-red mane. His lower body flinched under my touch and twitched sporadically as I searched lower, until it finally jolted when my hand found its goal. He grunted briefly, barely audibly in his throat, and I allowed myself no hesitation as I encircled his rapidly stiffening organ. I stroked slowly up and back down with my gloved fingers, letting him feel every crease of the cool leather, now warming more and more each second. 

He leaned heavily back against the door of the car like he couldn't support his own weight. I watched his fists clench at his sides before I rolled my eyes upward to watch the tightening of his face—how his teeth bared and the blush flowed swiftly up in his cheeks. This spurred me and I began to stroke faster, in shorter intervals, hearing a moan escape his mouth. I lifted my other hand and put it to use, cupping and fondling the softer tissue below his hardening cock. It was flooding with heat and girth in my grasp, bloating seemingly without limit, shocking me anew with the size it attained in comparison to its previous state. All these months tolerating his incessant hormonal urges, yet still I was in alien territory. These things seemed so basic to the rest of the human race—that much was obvious in their behavior and in the media—but I was apparently doomed to lack full comprehension of it. And now I was out of time to learn. 

All the more reason to fortify my resolve. 

I lowered my head, extending my tongue to lick against the dampening tip of his penis like I would with any melting bar of chocolate. "Fuck—!" he hissed, and his fist snatched my hair, tugging on reflex, encouraging me anxiously forward against my will. I instinctually recoiled when force was attempted on me, but for just this one time I obliged him anyway, pushing back my misgivings. He deserved his turn after all I’d put him through. I dragged my tongue all over him, tracing the swollen flesh, coating him with saliva as it pooled on my tongue. "Nnnn... God, yeah..." he muttered, huskiness tainting his usually lazy tone of voice. I slid my lips around him, moving down over him, swaying with it, sucking and lapping until he was groaning open-mouthed. His other fist went in my hair now, clutching, so I recommenced massaging his other extremities with my left hand while my right kept a grip in his wrinkled jeans. "Ahhh... F-Fuck...!" I moved hand and mouth over him, doubling his pleasure, given no option but to taste the saltiness of the sweat on his surface coupled with the bitterness of his premature discharge. I ventured so far as to graze him with my teeth. "Shit, Mello...!" he gasped as his fists tightened harder and harder in the roots of my hair, growing more painful with each throbbing second. "I'm gonna—!"

His pelvis lurched in my direction and his semen burst into my mouth and halfway down my esophagus in a gush, stinging my tongue with the salty-sour taste of his satisfaction. I nearly coughed at the abruptness, the sheer pressure, but I held back. He exhaled loudly, obnoxiously, and slumped backwards against the car, releasing my blonde locks. I wasn't sure what else to do, so I choked back on my pride and swallowed, wiping my mouth and smearing the sticky-hot liquid on my glove. I peeled it off afterward and let it fall, licking my lips discreetly. I could taste him boiling all the way down my throat. 

He took no time to catch his breath before he looked down at me, that uninterested clover gaze shifting, sparking, awakening for perhaps the first time. "What was that for?" he queried, still panting, his knees still unsteady. He had to lean his entire weight upon the car now, his elbows propping him up on the open window. 

"You can't ask," I said firmly. "I'll only do this if you don't ask questions."

He continued to regard me with that new stare; a look much like mine, I realized. It was narrow, sharp, determined—predatory. "No questions," he repeated. "You'll be me ONLY if I don't wonder why." I nodded. He wiped his sweaty upper lip with the back of his forearm, thinking again. “…So that means I’m YOU now,” he finally observed. I nodded again, reluctant once seeing that oddly ferocious look in his eyes intensify.

He blinked, slowly, and then reached down and snatched my vest collar in both hands, lifting me to my feet by it. I stiffened, affronted, but was unable to retaliate. “You must be out of your mind to give me that kind of power,” he uttered gravely, still breathing heavily. He then ripped my rosary over my head and slipped it around his own, leaving the crucifix to dangle at his striped chest. I glanced at it but then he jerked me against the front of himself, flinging his arms around and cramming our lips together so forcibly that his teeth drew my blood. I was stunned and then he twisted his fingers in my hair and held me viciously in place before I could react in any way. His tongue was swimming eagerly, searching me, aimlessly filling me with the tang of tobacco. One hand fell to cup my ass, heaving me upwards, forcing me to spread my legs as he speared his knee between them. I flinched when his leg crammed against me there.

I was wincing repeatedly beneath his brutal kiss, unable to adequately reciprocate, or even let myself feel the consequential stimulation of it. I couldn't muster the ambition, remembering the unspoken reason for the sacrifice of my pride. I would never tell him…but I would, at least for tonight, let him do as he pleased, even if I couldn’t begin to return it. That’s what I’d decided.

Suddenly he tugged me away by my hair, moving my head enough to look me in my face but keeping our bodies still mercilessly pressed to each other. I had blood and spit pasted around my mouth, so in reaction I ran the tip of my tongue over my lips, tasting the copper along with the gritty residue of smoke. He licked his lips in turn before he spoke. 

"Is there some kinda limit to this new game?" he asked me, less than an inch from me, our bodies flushed vertically down their lengths.

"No questions," I barked, trying my damndest not to be angry with him. Our intimacy always triggered my rage, activating a latent defense mechanism I'd never before known I had. If he kept talking he would ruin everything. 

"Fine," he said thankfully, getting even more in my face. We were so close that our noses fit together and all I could see was the haze of his sleep-starved eyes, the clover-green darker now due to the tinting of my eye-gear. "So, if you're me, that means you're the dog now." He didn’t make it a question.

I bit into my cheek. "Yes," I growled.

"And that means you'll do what I want, how I want, and you won't complain."

"...Yes...!" My pride was crumbling to dust.

"If that's how it is, then I won't be holding back this time." 

What did he mean? Had he been holding back until now? Was that possible? All of those times before, rushed and awkward as they were, had been exhausting. I hadn’t been happy at all with his insistence, especially when his endeavors caused me so much pain, but eventually I had gotten accustomed to it. I’d decided it was easier to let him get in a few fucks rather than spend my time arguing over it. Of course I had always been the one in control, maintaining my dominance over his every move. He only touched me, held me, screwed me when I allowed him to. I preferred to be on top when he entered me, so I could ride him at my own pace, with my own power. He never once complained or posed any debate. This would be the first time he could do as he pleased, with no boundaries. 

What had I gotten myself into?

He flung open the car door and lifted me by my shoulders, tossing me across the backseat like a neglected canine. I hit the musty cloth and sat back up, staring in anticipation of his next move. He’d surprised me yet again, this time with his strength. I’d never personally experienced it before, not when I was conscious. He had carried my weight when I was at my weakest months ago, after the explosion. I had been near death, so I’d hardly been lucid then. To encounter it now was only further unnerving me. 

It was too dark to see clearly within the enclosed space of the Camaro, especially since I was still wearing his goggles. The only light came from the hook lamp hanging above the car hood, and that hardly even reached through into the interior. I watched him crawl onto the backseat and crouch in front of me, pausing, seeming to contemplate. What could he be thinking now that I’d stuffed the bit in my mouth and handed him the reigns? 

He looked me over from head to toe and then scratched the slight rusty-red stubble on his chin. "Strip," he ordered suddenly.

"What?"

"No questions, remember?" he reminded me snidely. "Now strip."

"Matt—"

"YOU'RE Matt," he interrupted, "and I’M Mello, which means I shouldn't have to repeat myself." Damn him, he was using this to his full advantage without a shred of hesitation—and he was fucking enjoying it. Of course, could I have expected anything less? 

I bit the inner side of my cheek again and unzipped my vest quickly, shrugging out of the skin-tight leather and dropping it on the floor-mat. I peeled off my remaining glove and then yanked off both boots. He just knelt there and watched me, seeming to concentrate on every tiny act of my disrobing. I snapped open the sterling silver cross adornment on my belt buckle and removed the strap of white leather from the loops. He stopped me then by grabbing me by the ankle and pulling hard. He sprawled me supine across the backseat, my head flatly impacting the cushion, and then he crawled on top of me. My face flared in my instantaneous outrage, but he grasped my cheeks solidly in his gloved hand and got close. 

"You don't look too happy," he commented in his new snarky tone. "Matt is always happy to serve the Boss, remember? You fail as me.” He shook my face a little. “Suck it up already."

"This isn't exactly easy to adjust to," I griped, glaring at him. 

"You shouldn’t be bitching about ONE night. Try living your whole life this way, always trotting along on the end of the Master’s leash.” I growled and rolled my eyes. “You better wipe that look off your face, bitch," he continued. "It doesn't become me." I growled up in his face and so he abruptly slapped me, shocking me into stupid paralysis long enough for him to get hold of both my hands. He hauled me up by them and yanked the seatbelt above me out as far as it would go, then wrapped the strap around my wrists. He tied them hastily in a bundled knot and then let me go. The belt retracted automatically, snapping my arms up above my head and pinning me in place on the seat. I scoffed in disbelieving fury, feeling my vision go red behind the goggles. The heat of my face was fogging them over as I fumed, struggling to bite back, not thinking I could summon the humility. I wanted to scream at him, scream my lungs out and dish out due revenge.

I could barely see his smug face as it hovered above mine, smirking. He really was enjoying the hell out of this, the bastard. How could I not foresee this level of eagerness to reverse our roles? But I suppose it would be a difficult thing to see when standing in my shoes, wielding the power that I constantly did. Any dog would gladly take the leash from its master if given the chance, right? 

"I like the look of you down there," he remarked. I scoffed again and he pulled a switchblade from his back jeans pocket. Inexplicably, I was nervous—having no inkling as to what this newborn "Mello" would do to his “Matt.” He chuckled and said: "Chill out. Even if I was gonna cut you, you'd have to like it—but I just don't plan on arguing with your tight fucking pants when you've gotten me this horny." He promptly flicked out the blade and slid the tip of it beneath the bottom hem of my leather slacks, slitting them up the front of the leg from ankle to groin. 

"Shit!" I snapped, going rigid. "Watch where you're—"

He stopped long enough to slap me in the face. Spit flung from my mouth as the pain of his blow reverberated. "Matt doesn't give the orders," he said. He grabbed the frames of the goggles, lifting and then snapping them painfully back over my eyes. "You need to shape up."

"Fucking...!" 

He tore the slit in my pants wide open, ripping it along the seams and exposing my entire right leg. He followed suit with the other leg until the leather was tight and tiny around nothing but my hips and crotch. "Keep still or I might knick something I wanna use later." He cut apart my fly and waist hem, shredding away every scrap of leather until I was naked under him. He threw the hunks of ruined fabric out the door and then the knife returned to his pocket. Now that he was finished stripping me with the sharp blade I lifted my legs to kick him away from me, fed up with his taking advantage and losing every resolution I'd had about this fiasco. He caught my leg and shoved it up into my chest, using all his weight to trap it there while he fumbled around the floorboards. He came back up with a jumper cable and twined it around my knee, binding my calf solidly in place to my thigh, leaving me unable to stretch or kick or even unbend my leg. He chortled and then tied my other leg the same way with a bungee cord, sitting back afterward to inspect his work. 

I thrashed in my makeshift restraints, unable to free myself from the heavy-duty vehicle equipment. Bound this way, my genitals and backside were shamelessly exposed, and my arms were helpless above me. I was nearly foaming at the mouth, positively infuriated at his gall. "Get me out of this fucking shit!" I seethed, hailing spit and lingering blood through my teeth. "You goddamn fucking bastard!" I struggled, yanking at the seatbelt, hoping to snap the mechanism, but it wouldn't budge. 

"Now, that doesn't sound like me at all," he remarked, and shuffled around on the floorboards again. He came back up with a box of red grease rags, chortling again before he took a fresh one out and shoved it in my jaws, gagging me. I went rigid with fury, frozen by my continued disbelief at his daring. I screamed through the thick cloth, only able to pass muffled protests. "There, that's a little better." My whole body was hot with rage and discomfort, and the goggle lenses were fogged wholly now, rendering me blind as well as mute. I continued to struggle but he paid me no heed. He was living up to my name pretty fucking well after all. "So, you having fun being me? I'm definitely having fun being you." 

"Mmmmf! Fnnnnk uuhhh!"

"I'll take that as a yes." He chuckled, that same low, gruff chuckle, and then his gloved hands were rubbing up along my thighs. 

"Nnnng!" I tried to yell. I fidgeted, attempting to shrink my legs away from him.

"You don't really think you can get away, do you? You're acting pretty pitiful. Matt would never try to escape; he would love every minute of this."

"Fnnnnnk! Mmmmmgh!"

He chuckled again, driving me out of my fucking mind, before his hands drifted off my legs and over my abdomen. He outlined the indentations of muscle in my stomach, smoothing down every contour of sinew beneath his leather-clad fingertips. They were cold, lingering, raising gooseflesh all across me. His touches wandered lower, teasing just outside the lines of my pelvis, inching closer until he brushed through the fair gold curls I knew were below. I flinched violently, grunting behind my gag, half-choking on the coarse linen. "You like it there? How about lower?" The cold leather encasing his fingers slid down to circle my dick, gripping firmly, not gently in the least. He massaged his hands up and down, slowly, making every muscle in my legs clinch and burn. 

"Unnnn—!" I bit my teeth fiercely into the rag, snarling through my nose as it clogged. Saliva gushed forth from its glands, flooding my mouth almost instantly and soaking the cloth. He massaged faster now, more firmly, not teasing anymore. "Mmmm!" I groaned behind the wet gag, feeling my own spit drench it through and dribble over my lips. All of a sudden he stopped, removing his hands, and my intestines recoiled in agony. In less than five seconds his hands returned, this time bare, and hot, and sweating. He picked up right where he left off, clutching and manipulating the hungriest part of me with his callused fingertips. I was achingly erect and still hardening, my hips shaking with it, my legs having spasms beyond my tolerance. "Nnnnn! Nnnnnn!" He was pushing me to the edge, forcing me past my ability to control myself. I was trembling with the ecstasy, my arms jerking with my desire to grab hold of something, anything. My epidermis was drowning in hellfire and my knees were crushing together. I couldn't see, couldn't adequately breathe. My saliva was cascading down my chin now, pattering onto my neck, dripping, agitating. "Gnnnn—!" 

Another millisecond and this torture would end! For the love of God I just wanted it to fucking end!

"Not so fast," he said, and then both his hands were gone, dropping me tactlessly into the pit of Hell.

"Uhnnnnn...!" I moaned in pain, going limp and helpless, my hard-on still raging desperately between my legs, unfulfilled. 

"You didn't think this would be quick, did you?" he asked, still smug, still obnoxious. “I’m gonna make this last as LONG as I possibly can.” I groaned again, aware of how pathetic I sounded and unable to remedy it. He'd never pushed it this far between us before, never dangled me at such a distance over the abyss without letting me topple. Always our romps together had been straightforward and to the point, hardly containing what one would call foreplay. He didn’t seem to have the patience for it any more than I did. But now…this was a new game altogether. "You're the equipment now, bitch,” he snapped, “and I plan to use you however I want, for as long as I want. After all, you said this was the only time I would get to." I shook my head, scoffing, fidgeting, pulling at my restraints. "You need to stop complaining. You aren't in character at all." 

His lips began to rove my body, starting at my chest and tracing my nipples. I felt my upper body twitch with it, the stimulus here pale in comparison to the yearning down below. He bit me there, tightening the flesh, and then his hot, wet tongue darted forth and licked against the places he just kissed, nipping with teeth here and there, moving gradually downward. He focused his attention on the left side of my body, where my scar tissue was healed in sickening tendrils of pink and brown, marring my image. He focused there because he knew I HATED it. I HATED when he touched my scars, because I couldn’t stand them, and because the tender skin was especially sensitive. A single brush of his lips was enough, but his licking and biting was too much to bear! I moaned with it as he moved from the ones on my face all the way down to the ones on my hip. He lingered…

When his tongue lapped suddenly over my cock, my spine arched viciously and my voice wailed behind the wet cloth. He was sucking me before I could find my next thought. "Mmmm! Mmmmm...!" Goddamn him to hell—he knew how much I HATED it when he moved slowly, in any context! I didn't have the calmness to abide it. This was pure torture, and he was well aware of it. No, he was counting on it—and LIKING it! 

"So how is it? Driving you crazy yet?" He snickered gloatingly before he went down on me as far as his throat could take, tearing away any shred of dignity left in my body as I twisted and grunted and shook terribly with pleasure. I dug my fingernails into my own palms and grinded my teeth into the sopping rag, choking on my own bloody drool. His hand took hold of my thigh as his other prodded below, seeking before he jabbed a finger inside me.

"Nnnng—!" He hardly waited a moment before he jammed a second finger through the tight ring of muscle, stretching me, making my flesh scream. He then followed promptly with a third, multiplying my loss of rationality. He sawed all three of them in and out of me, splicing me with euphoric lightning down every nerve. He sucked me off and fingered me in sequence, doubling the roiling ecstasy and building the summit higher and higher. “Gnnnn—!” I moaned uselessly before I couldn’t contain it any longer. He pulled away as I came, leaving me to oil the front of myself miserably. 

I slumped flaccidly, my bones turned to liquid, my legs and arms now made of melted rubber. I collapsed as flatly as possible onto the backseat, finally able to realize my wrists were raw and hurting from the makeshift fetters. My legs were still drawn up into my chest and bruising under their shackles. My starved member was now sated and the wetness was dripping sickly down my body. The sopping gag was still wedged in my jaws, making it difficult for me to get enough air. I wheezed through my nose and tried to stop my muscles from shaking. 

“Look at you,” he said, moving back over me, looming even though I couldn’t see him. “You look so dirty down there… Like a filthy fucking whore. I like it—I like it A LOT.” I could hardly hear him through the insane pounding of my heartbeat in my temples. I still wheezed, trying to inhale deeply enough to catch my breath. His fingers came up to pull out the soaked rag and once I was free I took a deep draught of oxygen. I could feel my own drool pooled behind my teeth and still dribbling down my chin and neck. I tried to ignore it, unable to do anything, and just inflated my lungs over and over. “What a slut. You’re drooling all over yourself.”

“F-Fuck you—!” I gasped.

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

“No, damn you—! STOP!”

“I’m the one giving orders, and there’s no way I’m gonna stop already. I’ve barely even started.”

“You’re done, damn you—DONE—!” He hurled his lips against mine, shutting me up by stabbing his tongue in my mouth. He rolled it around, rediscovering every crevice, every emptiness, and seeking to fill them. I considered biting his tongue, but he pulled away and yanked his striped shirt one-handed over his head, unveiling what I knew were the slender muscles of his hairless chest and shapely tones of his tattooed arms. My rosary clattered against his sternum and swung with the action, I could hear it. He discarded the wrinkled fabric, leaving his shaggy hair mussed and tickling my chin as he hunched back down, nudging at my throbbing opening with an unmistakable hardness. “NO! Fucking bastard—not THAT!” I twisted in my bindings again, fighting in vain to get free, to get that part of him away from me.

“I can’t believe you’re still trying to get away. It’s pointless, especially when I can tell that you like this.”

“Bullshit!”

“Your cock tells a different story than your mouth, as usual.” He ran a finger over said body part, making me flinch anew. “You still fail at being me. Try a little harder, for Christ’s sake.”

“GodDAMN you!” 

I tried again to yank the seatbelt hard enough for the mechanism to snap loose, but to no avail. I strained my legs to free them from the cords, but again it was futile. I refused to accept defeat, but in all practicality, I had no other options. Had I not resolved long ago to give him this singular night of freedom? Had I not swore to myself that I would choke back my pride and let him do as he pleased with no second thoughts? He wouldn’t ever know why. He wouldn’t ever guess that he might die tomorrow—and that this was the only consolation I had on earth to give. 

I stopped struggling and forced my body to loosen, still pumping my lungs, still gulping my heart back down into my chest. My head was spinning with the heat of my own body, and I still couldn’t see through the condensation inside the goggle lenses. I was blind, and in all likelihood that was for the best. This way, at least I couldn’t SEE what he was doing to me, although feeling it was more than enough. I heaved a staggered sigh through my nose and just went still under him. I didn’t know if I could manage to adequately play the part of “Matt,” if I could BE a beaten dog or well-worn equipment. I was beginning to see how anyone other than him would have felt in his shoes. How could he live this way and enjoy it? Why should I even bother to ask at this point? It was too late for wondering why, wasn’t it?

“Finally settling into your role, Matt?” he asked, still in that gloating tone of voice that I now despised. I didn’t answer; I just set my teeth and did my utmost to stop shaking with anger and anxiousness. He snickered and returned to what he was doing, pushing his thumbs at either side of my opening and spreading me, replacing that hardness and advancing with it. I cringed, sucking air through my teeth. He paused to pull his jeans further down, adjusting himself with one hand while he positioned my backside accordingly with the other. Soon enough his cock was breaching, penetrating swiftly and wretchedly. 

I didn’t want to make noise anymore, but he was rendering it impossible. “Mmmm…! Nnnn!” I moaned through my teeth. He thrust roughly, holding my thighs tighter to my chest, keeping me wide open for him, contorted awkwardly in my bondage. “Gaaah! Nnnng!” He flexed his stomach to invade me deeper, his motions cutting me to the core, holding back, making each heave drawn out, long, and devastating to my endurance. “Haahh! Haaahh! God…! Fucking…!”

“You like that?” he chuckled. “You know…I’m a much nicer Mello than you ever were. Here I am…worrying about how YOU feel. When you were in my position…it was all about YOU. You never gave two shits whether Matt felt good or not.” 

He thrust especially hard, making my spine arc into him. “Ahhhh!”

“I should stop giving a fuck too, huh? I would fit into my role a little better… Maybe I’m just too used to bowing to your every need... Switching things around…is a little more difficult for me than I thought, too… Years of being your errand-boy has got me dick-whipped pretty good...” He kept heaving as he talked, making me weak, crushing my will. “If I really wanna play your part, I should just do what makes ME feel good…without giving a damn about anyone. I should just think about MY needs, MY wants, and to hell with everybody else…!” Each heave was harder and rougher than the last. He was slinging himself so viciously into me, pounding in and out of me with the hottest, harshest part of himself, now enhanced by his newfound devotion.

“Mmm—! Matt—!”

“I’m not Matt right now, bitch.”

“Just end it! End it!”

“Are you begging me?”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Nnnn!” He thrust harder, jamming my knees all the way up into my shoulders, lifting my backside as high as it would go so he could get his angle perfect to plunge as deeply inside me as possible. 

“Never knew you were so flexible,” he remarked. He was sheathed to the hilt now, his engorged cock buried beyond any limit he’d ever had before. “So tell me, are you begging or not?”

I couldn’t take it much longer! “Y-Yes! Yes, I’m begging, goddamn you!” I shouted. “End it! END IT!”

He laughed breathlessly above me, still heaving, flinging his hips into me in an increasingly savage rhythm. “That’s music to my ears, y’know?” he gasped, still snickering without air. “I’ll end it if you say something.”

“Wh-What?!” I asked desperately, my pride already busted and bleeding out on the floor. 

He craned his neck to lower his face closer to mine. I could feel his panting breath on my cheeks. “Say you want me to come inside,” he told me.

I couldn’t see it, but I swear I could HEAR the smile on his face! I grinded my top teeth over my bottom ones and then inhaled sharply. “I want you—to come inside…!”

He chuckled. “Say you want me to fuck you like the bitch you are.”

“Damn you!” I hissed.

He backhanded me promptly and the taste of blood renewed itself on my tongue. I hacked up a mouthful of reddened spit. “Say it,” he barked.

“…I—I want you to fuck me—!” 

He grabbed hold of my cheeks, squeezing them and jerking my face upward. “Finish it.” His voice had never sounded this way before, not once, not ever—and I didn’t like it. There was such cruel authority in it, such enthusiasm, such domination. He was the exact opposite of all those attributes, and the voice emerging from him now didn’t fit at all, so much so that I wouldn’t have recognized him without prior knowledge, not with my eyes blinded as they were. He jerked my face again, more roughly. “Fucking finish it!”

“I WANT YOU TO FUCK ME LIKE THE BITCH I AM!!!” I shouted as loudly as my aching lungs would allow, hurting my chest, surely flinging bloody saliva in his face.

He laughed again and released my face, commencing with his thrusts, finally increasing his speed, shortening the intervals of each motion. I was bent to his whims, my whole frame persuaded to sway with his body. Steeper and steeper, coiling, building, towering—until finally, with a furious heave and a tightening of his clawed hands on my thighs, he came violently. His seed spurted into me, filling my hollow insides to the point of overflowing, leaving nothing untouched. He groaned open-mouthed with his brutal climax and I yelled with it, uncontrollably, my back bowing towards him and all my fingers and toes curling under. 

When it was over I collapsed, lifeless, every muscle limp and my lungs positively on fire. He fell heavily on top of me, barely bracing himself by his hands on the car seat. “Fuck,” he panted in my ear. “Fuck, it’s unreal how tight you are… Still not used to it…” I couldn’t respond, couldn’t move, couldn’t even properly breathe. I was still hard and in need, but I had no energy remaining in my body. Even if I was left dangling, emaciated, I just wanted him to be finished. I comforted myself by contemplating his inevitable punishment once this game was through...

He kissed me then, and I was too weak to react in any way. My skin was trembling with fatigue and pain continuously ricocheted up my nerves from his rough desecration of me. He was still inside me, throbbing as his tongue slithered against mine, tasting me slowly, taking his time. Was he finally satisfied with this role? His hand suddenly gripped the silver frames of the goggles over my eyes, pulling them up and pushing them back onto my head. I could see again after an incalculable span of time, my blindness lifted but my overall state no less pitiful. 

“You look pathetic down there, I hope you know,” he said, licking his lips and mopping his sweaty brow. He finally removed himself from my passage, allowing the fluids to spill sickly out of me. “You look beaten…filthy… Makes me hot all over again.” I glanced at my rosary swinging to and fro from his neck. “I bet I know what you’re thinking behind those sunken eyes though,” he continued. “You’re thinking it’s over.” I lifted my gaze to him, not wanting to hear anymore. “But it’s far from over. I’m just getting warmed up.” 

“N…” I discovered my voice was clogged with my own spit and had to swallow painfully. “No,” I choked. 

“You don’t call the shots, and I’m getting tired of having to remind you.” He blinked once before his face creased, his lips curving at the corner. “I just gave myself an idea.” He left me, bending down to dig around on the floorboards, returning to his knees with my 9mm Beretta in his hand. 

My eyes were shocked open, beads of sweat stinging them, but I was unable to shut them or look away. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting tired of all the questions. You can’t make a game and then change the rules in the middle.”

“What are you DOING?” I hissed again, my voice hoarse and my throat sore.

He pistol-whipped me, smacking me with the butt of the gun just enough to make me black out for a few seconds. I blinked back the spots from my vision, feeling the pain of an inevitable bruise on my jaw. He chuckled once after that, moving back over me, making a show of flicking the safety off on the gun. He jerked back the slide, putting a bullet in the chamber, making the cross charm on the lanyard jingle dynamically in my thundering ears. Would he really…? 

“This is fucking priceless,” he commented, pressing the muzzle of the gun right between my eyes. I froze, my lungs cramping. “You look like you might cry,” he exclaimed in amusement. “Do you know how many times Mello has threatened Matt with this thing? He should be desensitized to it by now.” He prodded the gun harder into my forehead, hurting me, driving his point home. “The tables have really turned now.” I didn’t really believe he would shoot me, did I? Somehow, I couldn’t be sure, not with that look in his eyes, that look I’d never known. It was animalistic, not suited to him at all. What had I unleashed?

He chuckled again, louder this time. “I should be using this properly, shouldn’t I?” He held the weapon sideways like I preferred and nudged the muzzle against my lips. I clamped my teeth together and tried to keep it at bay, but he maneuvered between them, jamming half the barrel in my mouth. I gagged, feeling my leftover drool collect against the cold metal while my tongue tried to extract it, making me taste the putrid gun powder. He tapped his index finger on the trigger, still smirking. “Just a squeeze,” he said. “That’s all it would take for me to be a free man.”

I just stared down the barrel into his unfamiliar eyes, half swallowing my own trusted gun, gagging on my spit as it swelled, needing to expel the intrusion. “Nnnnf!” I moaned in my throat. “Nnnn!”

He smiled and shook his head. “It was fun watching you squirm, but I’m not gonna shoot you with this thing. That’d be a waste.” He retracted the barrel from my mouth, trailing a thick thread of saliva from my tongue to the gun sight. “In fact, I don’t even need it to be loaded for what I’m gonna do.” He ejected the clip and discarded the ammo, yanking the slide again to get rid of the hollow point in the chamber. “I’ve got something else in mind…” He traced the muzzle of the gun down my neck, digging into my Adam’s apple, making me swallow painfully. He laughed faintly and then continued down my chest, playing with my nipples, persuading them hard in moments. Another low laugh and then he went lower, to my stomach, wiping up my lingering semen that hailed across my torso from my earlier ejaculation. 

I watched him, dreading. He got to my hard-on and chortled once, louder, before he taunted at it with the weapon, making me flinch. He rubbed it up and down my wet shaft, teasing at the tip. “Ahhh!” I groaned, unable to contain it.

“You love this fucking gun so much…” he mused. “Well then, I’m going to let you have it.” What the hell did he mean? 

In the next few instants he hoisted my leg further up with one hand, giving himself absolute full access to my most defenseless parts. I stared at him in disbelief, denying his intentions, not letting myself accept the possibility. He grinned up at me before he touched the gun muzzle to my vulnerable opening. I winced before I gathered all my remaining strength to struggle one last time. I thrashed my legs and yanked at my restraints, losing my breath all over again. 

“Don’t you fucking dare!” I gasped. 

“You still won’t admit that you have no power here. It’s all mine, and I think you need a taste of your own fucked up medicine.” He pushed the gun further against me, straining the tight ring of muscle there as it resisted. 

“Nnnn! No!” I pulled at my bindings but it was no use. He pushed harder, battling against the tautness of my anus, shoving ruthlessly forward until he finally breached. “AAGHHH!” I screamed, feeling the fragile flesh tear in the wake of his advance. “FUCK!” He snickered under his breath while he invaded me deeper with the stainless steel weapon in his hand. “FUCK—!” It had warmed slightly from being in my mouth, but it was still terribly cold. However much it hurt, at least his cock was mere flesh—pliable and hot. This intruder didn’t give way in the slightest and had angular edges, ensuring that he ripped me apart more and more the deeper he went with it. “STOP! STOP IT!”

He ignored me, and buried the gun inside me up to the trigger guard, splicing me to pieces with agony. I could smell the car interior fill up to the roof with the stenches of copper and gun oil. “Shit, you’re bleeding all over my upholstery,” he cracked. “Be thankful I bothered to lube this thing up at all beforehand.” Now that he had it in, he began to move the thing, in and out, back and forth. I screamed again and again, my spine going stiff and my whole epidermis catching flame. The gun sight was raking my inner walls, forcing them to suction in defense and cause me twice as much pain. “You should try to relax or you might bleed to death.” 

“STOP! PULL IT OUT, DAMN YOU! PULL—IT—OUT—!!!”

“I don’t feel like it yet.” He retracted until just the tip was inside, and then he turned the gun, twisting it in me until it was pointing sideways. “I figured I should give it to you the way you like best,” he informed me snidely. I grunted loudly through the soreness of my throat. Then he resumed his previous actions, thrusting it in and out of me, straining me too wide, making me bleed. “Tell me how it feels,” he demanded.

“HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK IT FEELS?!”

He slapped me. “That’s why I asked.”

“IT HURTS, DAMN YOU! IT FUCKING HURTS!”

“Good.” He continued, never deterred by my screams or protests. I could no longer struggle or else I would tear myself more around the weapon. All I could do was stay horribly still and scream. “As much as I’m enjoying listening to this, we do have neighbors and we are trying to lay low.” He shoved the damp rag back in my jaws, gagging me, muffling my cries again. He kept at it, speeding up his motions, doubling the pain and bringing something else to life. The faster he went, the better it felt—against my will. My drool revived, sickening me. The demented pleasure was born and continued to shoot up and up, making me hard again no matter how I tried to fight it. He laughed, even as I foolishly hoped he wouldn’t. “And I always thought MY masochism was sick,” he remarked. “It doesn’t even compare to this.”

“Shhhnn uuhnn!” I moaned without a voice.

“You like that, you little bitch?” he accused. “You like being fucked with your own gun?”

“Gnnnnn!” I shook my head, dashing my sweaty hair all over my face, sticking the moist strands to my perspiration. I hated it, HATED IT, but my body couldn’t deny that it felt good to be sodomized with the cruel metal. By God, what had I created by unchaining his beast? And worse, what had I allowed to surface from myself? Was this really me, cowering here beneath him, shivering with alternating waves of pain and perverse pleasure? Was this really me choking down my own drool and too weak to escape my bondage?

Was this really me surrendering to him?

“Go on and come already,” he taunted. “I know you want to. I’ll let you this time…”

I tried to shake my head again but I was too tired, and too paralyzed with ecstasy. He hadn’t stopped violating me with my gun, not for a second, and I could feel my encroaching peak. Higher, hotter, sicker, until I came all over the front of myself, splattering beads of grotesque fulfillment all the way up to my chin. “MMMMM—!” I moaned behind my gag. 

Finally! Finally, it was over!

He snickered and pulled the weapon out of me, letting loose a fount of blood and other fluids. He returned to kneel over me, observing the barrel, now stained in streaks of red. He smirked crookedly at me before he ran his tongue along the surface of it. I couldn’t hope to move and just let my every bone, muscle, and fiber go flaccid under him, sagging in my restraints, embedding the knotted seatbelt in my wrists and worsening the bruising on my thighs. He watched me for a while, tossing the gun aside. After a few minutes he grabbed my face, removed the gag, and kissed me. 

I just lay there, motionless, at his mercy. His tongue was eager, gliding all over; on my teeth, my cheeks, and the roof of my mouth. I knew he tasted my blood. Without warning, his cock was penetrating me again, stabbing inward with a crash of pain. “Aaahhhh!” I shouted through our kiss, still raw and throbbing with agony. 

“There’s no way I’m going to watch you come without getting to myself.”

“It—hurts—!” was all I could manage to scream.

“I know, but I don’t care.” He fucked me anxiously, readily, surely coating himself with my blood.

“God!” I groaned, unable to resist him, unable to fight. I took his thrusts, feeling his fatigue in them as well. He finished quickly, much faster than before, carelessly spilling his fluids inside which grated my open wounds. “God—damn—!” He dropped his body atop mine and we both sank liquidly onto the stained upholstery, breathless together. 

Many long minutes passed before he exuded his head from my neck and sat back on his knees, wiping the perspiration from his face. I was left limp there, boneless, senseless, reeking of my own blood and ejaculate. I was wet from head to toe, soaking in sweat, blood, and semen—both mine and his. By all things holy, I was perfectly listless in the aftermath. I had no energy, no motivation to summon any, no feelings whatsoever. For the first time in my life, I was empty of brash emotion and heated anger. For the first time since I could remember, I was nearly…at ease. Content to have the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. Content to be the follower, not the leader. Content to be conquered. Content to be helpless. 

Content.

I didn’t even fully realize when he started untying my legs from their bindings. He undid the jumper cable from around my right leg and tossed it aside, letting me feel the full gravity of the excruciating bruises left behind. I couldn’t even stretch out my leg; it had been barricaded in one position too long. He saw this and helped me, gently grasping my ankle and knee, unfolding it. The joint popped loudly and my muscles tingled and burned with pain. He untied my other leg from the bungee cord and then repeated the unfolding process, aiding me without requiring an order. After all that, he reached up to undo the heavily-knotted seatbelt, releasing my wrists from it at long last and letting it retract. My arms dropped like they weighed a thousand pounds each, flopping over my head beyond any ability of mine to control them.

He just looked down at me silently for a long time, his darkly-green eyes reverted back to the state I’d always known them to reside in—lazy, languid, carefree. No longer did he look crazed like a starved wolf. No longer did he grin or lick his lips like a dog scenting a bitch in heat. No longer did he strike anxiety in me for being so dreadfully unfamiliar. His jaw was slackening, his eyebrows drooping, his shoulders hunching. He scratched his head and then leaned over into the front seat, returning with his pack of cigarettes and lighter. He adjusted himself, replacing his boxer shorts and jeans, and lounged back on the opposite side of the backseat. He flipped open the pack, drew a cig into his mouth with his tongue, and lit it. He took a steep drag, shivering slightly from the inhalation of nicotine and other deadly chemicals. After he blew the silvery smoke from his lips, he sighed. 

He was Matt again. The Matt I’d always known.

He inhaled and exhaled smoke for a while, so close to where my lifeless body was slumped in a pile, yet not touching the vast puddle of blood now soaking into the seat cushion. “…You okay, Mello?” he asked after a while, his voice morphed back to its usual lazy timbre.

“…What did I tell you about asking me stupid questions?” I spiced it with a demanding tone, trying to test the waters, to see if he’d really reverted.

“…Right. Sorry.”

Was he truly himself again? Was this game over at last? 

He smoked in the silence that followed, puffing his cigarette down to the nub so quickly he didn’t realize when it was only the filter left. He sighed and sniffed it out on the bottom of his boot before he tossed it out the car door. After that he buttoned his jeans and zipped up the fly. I still couldn’t hope to move or calm the throbbing of my blood in my veins. Even when he reached over and laid a hand on my hip, I was powerless to stop him. “It’s really late,” he said. “Let’s get you inside.” I didn’t respond. How quickly he’d changed back. He just turned off that other personality like he could flick a switch. He got up on his knees, sliding his hand beneath my shoulder and lifting me up. “Can you stand, do you think?”

“No,” I barked weakly.

“Okay.” He lifted me the rest of the way up, trying to prop me with my spine vertical, but pain bolted upward through me and I slumped heavily against him. He paused for a few seconds before he held me there against him, just letting me flinch and shake with pain until I finally stopped. “I’ll have to carry you.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“I know, but I can’t leave you out here.”

He started to get a grip beneath my knees. “I’m naked, you idiot.”

“Oh, right. If somebody looked out their window they’d get an eyeful.” I growled at him. “I don’t have anything to cover you with...” He shuffled around, finally grabbing his striped shirt off the floor-mat. He tugged it over my head, leaving my arms out of the sleeves, and pulled it down past my hips. It was long enough to barely cover me. After that he picked me up and eased me out of the backseat, then stood and carried me out of the garage and back into the condo. I listened to his heavy boots shuffle on the concrete. He shut and locked the door behind us, then took me into the bathroom and set me in the cracked tub. He pulled the shirt back off and then turned on the water, filling the tub up to my shins with lukewarm water. “That isn’t too hot, is it?”

“…No.”

“Okay.” He let the water level rise to my hips, and instantly it was stained red-orange from my leaking blood. He drained it and then filled it again until my bleeding slowed, and then he commenced to washing me clean of all the other fluids, being delicate with my bruises. The abrasions on my wrists were bleeding too and he took care in cleaning them. I just stared at his hands as they worked, his callused fingers rubbing me almost tenderly. I found myself concentrating on his short, uneven fingernails and thick knuckles. He preferred to work with his hands rather than his brain, I knew that, I’d always known that, in spite of the fact that I was very aware of his particular genius. He said not a word as he scrubbed lightly, not glancing at me while he did so, I guess cautious of my glare. It was as if he were another person entirely, even more compliant than he’d been originally. 

Was this guilt for his brutal actions? Was he remorseful? Did I care? I would be just as angry regardless, wouldn’t I? Halfway through his soothing actions I slid slowly out of consciousness, the subtle stings of pain and the warmth both sending me swiftly into delirium. I could still hear the water and feel the wetness of it tug at my surface. I could still somewhere feel his rough fingertips and palms stroking me softly. I could still smell the soap and the scent of diluted copper and of cigarettes. I even felt when he started to wash my hair before I began to pass out of the waking world. 

My last train of thought was of how I didn’t mind slipping away. I could leave my life in his hands and be able to trust him with it. He was the one and only person I could feel confident to let bear my weight. He was the only one I could allow to know my secrets, and see my weaknesses. Right now, however furious I was at his offense, I passed out thinking that I could leave everything in his hands, at least for tonight. In the morning, things would change. Tomorrow, things would return to the way they’d always been, with I the master and he the dog, and this moment would vanish. But now…now I was content to float away with the feel of his callused hands on my skin as my final memory.

//:END


End file.
